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This truck stop: rancid gravy

A man with no hands waving

and the dog `round my leg bumps and grinds

It rains for miles out there

on mud and tar and still air

and the fungus-lined gap between stinking towns



Pork-Eyes got him a brand new hand

He`s gonna grasp you

He won`t ask you

and he`ll tell you it`s all your fault



CHORUS:

The cup runneth over, your jaws to bless

on the white-knuckle express



She is [grace?] naked, I cannot see her face

She slides across me

I am wearing a collar and a tie



We`re tuneful, cute and giving

See, that`s how we make our living

In a hall full of corpses, we`d smile and bounce on

Some say it`s aimless bullshit

but they come from big houses and budgets

and, although I don`t look it, I`m getting really fucking old



Pork-Eyes, in the presence of a sweet young girl:

He`s gonna spill you, it better thrill you,

or he`ll tear this place apart

Pork-Eyes! We`re going up! Feet-first, feet-first!

and the legend on that girl`s thigh reads "Love = Hurt = Hate"--CHORUS



Pork-Eyes, he will stroke your long hair tenderly in all the

waterfront bars

where the wine and hollow talk-of-men will muffle things that

really, really are

and you`ll go back to your room with him on your healthy sandalled feet

to come out minutes later, bleeding, torn above, torn underneath...

This truck stop: rancid gravy

A man with no hands waving

and the dog `round my leg bumps and grinds

It rains for miles out there

on mud and tar and still air

and the fungus-lined gap between stinking towns



Pork-Eyes got him a brand new hand

He`s gonna grasp you

He won`t ask you

and he`ll tell you it`s all your fault



CHORUS:

The cup runneth over, your jaws to bless

on the white-knuckle express



She is [grace?] naked, I cannot see her face

She slides across me

I am wearing a collar and a tie



We`re tuneful, cute and giving

See, that`s how we make our living

In a hall full of corpses, we`d smile and bounce on

Some say it`s aimless bullshit

but they come from big houses and budgets

and, although I don`t look it, I`m getting really fucking old



Pork-Eyes, in the presence of a sweet young girl:

He`s gonna spill you, it better thrill you,

or he`ll tear this place apart

Pork-Eyes! We`re going up! Feet-first, feet-first!

and the legend on that girl`s thigh reads "Love = Hurt = Hate"--CHORUS



Pork-Eyes, he will stroke your long hair tenderly in all the

waterfront bars

where the wine and hollow talk-of-men will muffle things that

really, really are

and you`ll go back to your room with him on your healthy sandalled feet

to come out minutes later, bleeding, torn above, torn underneath...

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Код заказа		999-999
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